That was, perhaps, the only kind or familiar word which he had ever had from his idol; and he had treasured it to the last.  Women can love, as this book sets forth:  but now and then men can love too, if they be men, as Major Campbell was.

And Trebooze of Trebooze?

Even Trebooze got his new lesson two years ago.  Terrified into sobriety, he went into the militia, and soon took delight therein.  He worked, for the first time in his life, early and late, at a work which was suited for him.  He soon learnt not to swear and rage, for his men would not stand it; and not to get drunk, for his messmates would not stand it.  He got into better society and better health than he ever had had before.  With new self-discipline has come new self-respect; and he tells his wife frankly, that if he keeps straight henceforth, he has to thank for it his six months at Aldershott.

And Mary?

When you meet Mary in heaven, you can ask her there.

But Frank’s desire, that Grace should become his schoolmistress once more, is not fulfilled.

How she worked at Scutari and at Balaklava, there is no need to tell.  Why mark her out from the rest, when all did more than nobly?  The lesson which she needed was not that which hospitals could teach; she had learnt that already.  It was a deeper and more dreadful lesson still.  She had set her heart on finding Tom; on righting him, on righting herself.  She had to learn to be content not to find him; not to right him, not to right herself.

And she learnt it.  Tearless, uncomplaining, she “trusted in God, and made no haste.”  She did her work, and read her Bible; and read too, again and again, at stolen moments of rest, a book which some one lent her, and which was to her as the finding of an unknown sister—­ Longfellow’s Evangeline.  She was Evangeline; seeking as she sought, perhaps to find as she found—­No! merciful God!  Not so! yet better so than not at all.  And often and often, when a new freight of agony was landed, she looked round from bed to bed, if his face too, might be there.  And once, at Balaklava, she knew she saw him:  but not on a sick bed.

Standing beneath the window, chatting merrily with a group of officers—­ It was he!  Could she mistake that figure, though the face was turned away?  Her head swam, her pulses beat like church bells, her eyes were ready to burst from their sockets.  But—­she was assisting at an operation.  It was God’s will, and she must endure.

When the operation was over, she darted wildly down the stairs without a word.

He was gone.

Without a word she came back to her work, and possessed her soul in patience.

Inquiries, indeed, she made, as she had a right to do; but no one knew the name.  She questioned, and caused to be questioned, men from Varna, from Sevastopol, from Kerteh, from the Circassian coast; English, French, and Sardinian, Pole and Turk.  No one had ever heard the name.  She even found at last, and questioned, one of the officers who had formed that group beneath the window.